


Meeting the Parents (and Mycroft)

by LollipopCop



Series: Kisses and Finding Solace [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Comforting John, Fluff, Flustered Sherlock, Kissing, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 02:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2133180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LollipopCop/pseuds/LollipopCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock brings John home to meet his parents. Mrs. Holmes unwillingly embarrasses Sherlock. John is there to comfort him.</p><p>Could be read as stand-alone or sequel to "This Could Work".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting the Parents (and Mycroft)

**Author's Note:**

> As it says in the summary, this could be read as a stand-alone or sequel to my previous one shot, "This Could Work".  
> I just love Sherlock being all flustered.

“Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?”

John rolled his eyes. “Sherlock, we’re already at your house. It’s a bit too late for that now.”

“It’s never too late.” Sherlock took John’s hand and tugged. “Come on, you don’t have to--”

“Sherlock,” John squeezed his boyfriend’s hand. “I want to meet your parents.” He smiled. “It will be fine.”

“Mycroft will be there, too,” he muttered.

“I thought you said he’s at uni?”

“He normally is. He’s conveniently home for a week.”

John kissed the tip of Sherlock’s nose. “From what you tell me about your brother, he sounds arrogant more than intimidating, if you don’t mind me saying that.”

Sherlock had a slight blush on his cheeks from the kiss. “No, you’re right.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

* * *

 

Sherlock and John set their backpacks down in the front foyer and hung their coats. “I’m home,” Sherlock called out unenthusiastically. He loosened his tie on his uniform and led John into the kitchen where Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were seated.

Sherlock’s parents had graying hair and warm smiles. They looked like they were in their late fifties.

“This must be John,” Sherlock’s father held out his hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you, son.”

John smiled and shook his hand. “The pleasure is mine.”

Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and started to drag him away. “Okay, you’ve seen him, we’ll just be leaving.”

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Holmes frowned. “Don’t you dare drag that boy around like a rag doll! I didn’t even get a chance to introduce myself!”

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

Mrs. Holmes smiled at John. “John, I’m so glad to meet you. Sherlock has simply not stopped going on about you!”

“Mum,” Sherlock groaned.

“Oh really?” John smirked. “You’ve talked about me, Sherlock?”

“No!” he snapped his head away to stare out the window.

Mr. Holmes smirked but said nothing.

“Oh, he’s such a little fibber,” Mrs. Holmes shook her head. “He’s been talking about you for months--"

Sherlock grumbled.

“—and we’re so happy he’s found someone.”

John was torn between laughing at his boyfriend’s petulance and flushing. He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll take good care of him, Mrs. Holmes.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will.” Her voice lowered as if she were telling a secret. “You know, ever since you two started dating, I sometimes catch him staring off into space with a big grin on his face--”

“Stop!” Sherlock moaned, hiding his face into his hands.

Mr. Holmes spoke, “He blushes when he does that, too.”

Sherlock removed his hands to look at his father, an utter look of betrayal on his face. “Dad!”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Holmes laughed, “he does get so red. Look, he’s red right now!”

Sherlock refused to look at John.

John wanted to kiss Sherlock’s reddened cheeks.

“I think he dreams about you, John,” Mrs. Holmes said casually.

Sherlock looked stunned. “W…What?”

“Oh right, I went to get your laundry from your room the other day and you were napping. When I was about to leave, you hugged your pillow and said, ‘kiss me, John.’ Oh, it was _adorable!”_

Sherlock’s jaw dropped and he was red from under his collar to the tips of his ears.

John desperately wanted to hold him.

Sherlock hid his face again and shook his head. “This can’t be happening…”

A new voice spoke, “Ah, this must be John Watson.”

The four turned to see Mycroft, 24 years-old with bright red hair and a slightly protruding stomach, looking at John with a cool smile. John knew he was being studied.

“Yes, hello,” John stuck out his hand, “and you’re Mycroft?”

Mycroft shook his hand, “Yes, I am.”

“Go away,” Sherlock snapped.

“Oh, Mike,” Mrs. Holmes clapped her hands together happily, “isn’t John lovely? He’s perfect for our Sherly.” Sherlock groaned loudly at the nickname.

Mycroft didn’t seem too fond of his, either. “Yes, he is, isn’t he?” His eyes narrowed on Sherlock’s neck. “You really should not have loosened your tie and collar. Must you be so obvious?”

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes’ eyes immediately flew to Sherlock.

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he covered his neck with his hands. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times before shouting, “Piss off, Mycroft!” He ran out of the room.

John swallowed. Shit. He had forgotten about the hickey he had given Sherlock that day in the school’s lavatory (could you really blame him for getting a little carried away when kissing that neck? Sherlock certainly seemed to enjoy it, anyway). There he was, standing in the kitchen with Sherlock’s family, who just found out their Sherlock had been marked. _I’m so screwed._

To John’s astonishment, Mrs. Holmes looked angry at Mycroft. “Did you really have to embarrass your brother like that? You know he’s delicate as a lamb!”

“Oh, I think you were doing a fine job of it before I came in,” he said coolly.

While they bickered, Mr. Holmes said to John, “My wife is well-intentioned, John, but a total flake, and my oldest son simply loves tormenting his brother. I apologize if they made you feel uncomfortable.”

John huffed out a laugh. “I'm not the one who flew out of the room."

Mr. Holmes nodded. “You should find him. He’s probably in his room. It’s the third door to the left upstairs.”

“Right,” John cleared his throat. “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

John ignored the glare he got from Mycroft as he walked out of the room.

* * *

 

John knocked on the door. “Sherlock?”

“Go away,” came his muffled voice.

John turned the handle and was relieved to find the door unlocked. “You didn’t even lock the door?”

Sherlock was in his bed under his red duvet. “Go away, John,” he mumbled.

John shut the door behind him and looked around the room. There was a poster of the periodic table on the wall and books all over the floor. He stepped through the clutter carefully and sat on the bed next to the lump that was Sherlock. “What’s wrong?”

“Stupid Mummy and Mycroft,” said the lump.

“Your mother is lovely,” John said honestly. “She wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I don’t think the same could be said for Mycroft, though.”

“The fat git.”

John petted the lump. “Sherlock, come out from under there. Everything’s fine.”

“Everything’s _not_ fine,” he snapped and curled in into a tighter ball. “You know how pathetic I am.”

“Pathetic?” John looked at the lump incredulously. “What are you talking about?”

Sherlock emerged from under the duvet to glower at John. “You now know that I always talk about you, think of you, and even dream of you. You now know how attached I am to you, so much so my entire family notices.” He hated admitting his weakness. Since when did he become so _emotional?_ It was humiliating. Sherlock hid back under the duvet. “I understand if you’re disgusted with me.” He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable break up.

After a minute of nerve-racking silence, John said softly, “Sherlock, you realize all of what your mother said only makes me want to hold you, right?”

Sherlock’s heart thumped loudly in his chest. He slowly moved the duvet down and looked at John. “Why would…what?”

John lay down next to Sherlock and cupped a flushed cheek in his hand. He kissed Sherlock sweetly, but briefly. When he pulled away, he was smiling sadly. “You really thought I would be upset with you because you’re attached to me?”

Sherlock looked down at his hands near his pillow. “Maybe.”

John sighed and hugged Sherlock close to his chest, his right hand petting Sherlock’s curls. “Sherlock, don’t be ashamed of your feelings. I’m happy that you think about me. I’m happy that you care enough to talk about me.” He nuzzled his nose in Sherlock’s neck. “It’s all fine, Sherlock. I would be a hypocrite if I were angry with you for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think and talk about you too, you sod. Harry rolls her eyes every time I mention your name.”

A smile slowly spread across Sherlock’s face. “Oh.” He pressed a soft kiss to John’s Adam’s apple.

John chuckled, “By the way, I think it’s sweet that you dreamt about me.”

Sherlock hid his face in his pillow. “John!”

“And that you hugged your pillow…”

“Jooohn!” he hid back under the duvet.

“Don’t hide,” John went under with him. “You’re adorable, Sherlock.”

Sherlock whined, “No, I’m not! Get out from under here!”

“Nope.”

Kissing under the duvet added a new level of intimacy that left John wondering why they hadn’t done this sooner. It was dark and warm under there combined with the feeling of Sherlock’s soft lips on his and _god_ John was getting hard.

Sherlock, ever the mind-reader, thrust his hips into John’s. John swallowed a moan and settled for sucking on Sherlock’s bottom lip instead. Sherlock wasn’t as quiet as John.

“Sherlock, quiet down,” John soothed, “your family is right downstairs.”

“I can’t help it,” he insisted and resumed thrusting his hips. He moaned loudly again.

The logical side of John’s brain tried to fight off his lust. “Sherlock, our first time is not going to be a quick fumble under your duvet while we worry your family is going to hear.”

Sherlock stopped his movements. “Why not?”

John sighed and lifted the duvet back over their heads so they could see each other. Sherlock’s lips were bright red and his hair was a mess. He looked simultaneously adorable and arousing. “Because I want it to be special, Sherlock. I know you haven’t done anything before,” Sherlock averted his eyes at that, “which is all fine, but I want to be able to take care of you. Okay?”

Sherlock looked at John’s face, seemingly searching for something, before nodding.

John kissed his forehead. “You feel better?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed. He took John’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, John.”

“For what?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Just…everything.”

They began to kiss gently again. “How about,” John said between kisses, “we add a mark to your neck just to spite your brother?”

Sherlock shivered. “I…yes.”

John began to suck and nip at a spot on Sherlock’s neck that could be easy to hide, but also noticeable if he wanted to show it. Sherlock put a hand over his moth to muffle his whimpers. When John bit down hard enough to leave a mark but not hard enough to hurt much, Sherlock groaned.

Mr. Holmes opened the door, “Dinner is ready…oh.”

Sherlock looked mortified. “Dad!”

John stopped assaulting Sherlock’s neck. “We’ll be down in a minute.”

Mr. Holmes smiled. “Of course.” He closed the door.

John looked back at Sherlock. A red mark was forming on his snowy skin. John kissed his flushed cheek. “Come on, time for dinner.”

Mycroft would not stop glaring at John through the entire meal.

“I never knew Sherlock would be so vocal,” Mrs. Holmes commented. “I’m glad someone can please him so!”

Mr. Holmes hummed in agreement.

Mycroft glared harder at John.

Sherlock’s head dropped to meet the table.

John considered the entire day to be a success.


End file.
